The Lover's Leap                                  

Do you know the Crimple Valley? – it's not far from Harrogate,
Of its beauty and its grandeur I a history could relate,
There's a Village known as Weeton and, for all admiring eyes,
In its background, grand, historical, great Harewood Castle lies.

The road thence goes through Rigton and there's great Almias Cliff
Overlooking Wharfe's fair valley, it's a gorgeous sight, and if
You're at all inclined for romance your attention I would keep
While I tell you of the legend that's attached to Lover's Leap.

Many years ago there lived near by a pretty village belle,
For her virtue and her beauty all around there knew her well,
Many sought her hand in marriage, but her heart she gave away
To a youth who didn't prize it at its value, so they say.

Now, there's nothing so annoying to a prepossessing girl,
Nicely dressed, with pretty figure, and her hair a mass of curl,
Than to have a chap who lets the opportunity go by
When she flashes hopeful signals from the corner of her eye.

Anyhow this silly josser seemed to let his chances slip,
And he slighted her, poor maiden, till she simply got the pip.
If she'd had a bit of spirit, she'd have sacked him on the spot,
But the spirit that was wanted was the thing she hadn't got.

And the fellow kept on slighting her, it pains me to relate,
Till at last she really got into a very morbid state,
And instead of " bucking up " herself with pardonable pride,
She got morbid–er than ever, and resolved on suicide.

On a buttress of Almias Cliff, precipitous and steep,
The spot that ever since that time's been known as Lover's Leap,
She stood one fateful morning with a visage full of woe,
Then she gave a little jump into the horrid space below.

Now had she been dressed in modern style, with costume like a sheath,
She'd have come down, with a wallop, on the rugged rocks beneath,
But her petticoats voluminous, and other things to boot,
Caught the breezes which were blowing round and formed a parachute.

And she came to Earth in safety, quite unhurt by the affair,
Barring several bumps and bruises on her person, here and there.
The escape was most miraculous, a marvel, nothing less,
And some paragraphs about it got into the London press.

The Maiden, learning wisdom, promised Mother, plump and plain,
That she'd never, never, try on such a silly stunt again,
And she lived on to a ripe old age, as all historians know,
In a village near the spot that's known as Kirkby Overblow.